Early morning in my precious Newtown Wood, just outside Tramore, brings signs of changing seasons. Just as people don’t move through life in a uniform way, trees and flowers have their own ways of adapting and moving on.
The beech tree is steadfastly holding on to her autumnal leaves until the new growth is ready for show:
For now, the sun can see through the bare tree and cast pensive shadows where soon the there will be a carpet of bluebells:
Looking skyward, it’s clear that a canopy of green leaves will soon draw the blinds over the blue sky:
Down near the little stream, the celandines gleam with pride, promise and gentle purpose as they take us by the hand to celebrate diversity, humility and here-and-nowness.
My very special haunt, and one that I visit every single day, is Newtown Wood, just about a mile from my home here in Tramore.
Only yesterday a couple stopped me at the top of the wood, where I’d parked the car, and asked: Where does that path go?
For me, it’s a path that leads to peace, ever-changing nature and the sea. Newtown Wood goes back to the O’Neill-Power family, of the now sadly decrepit Newtown House who planted the trees almost two hundred years ago.
Newtown Wood is the place where I think, plan and go forward with renewed anticipation each day. I know it so well, at this stage, that I feel I can read its every change and mood, just as it seems to be able to read mine.
Here’s a sense of how it has been over the last few mornings when I’ve been there with ‘puppy’ Stan:
I’d love to hear about your special haunt and/or the place where you take your daily constitutional.
Newtown Wood, Tramore is an enchanted place which has very special meaning for me. In Section Eleven of Feature Writing, I describe the wood as it moves from autumn into winter. Such is the beauty and signifcance of Newtown Wood in my life, that I feel it appropriate to post this on Remembrance Day.